


Does Your Hobbit Glow in the Dark?

by MarieTiernas



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Arkenstone - Freeform, Arkenstone is not evil, Arkenstone loves the dwarves, Arkenstone wants to help, Benevolent Arkenstone, Legolas and Tauriel are the best of homies and you can't convince me otherwise, M/M, Multi, Purely self indulgent on my part, Sentient Arkenstone, Taking lots of liberties here, magic!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieTiernas/pseuds/MarieTiernas
Summary: Bilbo had long since learned to cover the glow. To dampen it so he could pass as a regular Hobbit and let the glow be forgotten as a childish dream by his peers. He covered the source of the glow in his minds eye underneath snow and ice as thick as the Fell Winters touch, smothering it and keeping it well buried. He was a Baggins of Bag End, after all. He had an image to keep up.He had managed thirty something years without hint of a glow to his person and then… Gandalf happened. Gandalf and several dwarves.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli/Ori (Tolkien), Kíli (Tolkien) & Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel
Comments: 30
Kudos: 196





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen lots of stories about the Arkenstone being malicious or being the source of the madness of the Line of Durin and it got me thinking... what if it was a benevolent stone?

In a lonely mountain lived a stone. Not the grey stone that cloaked the mountain and its treasures from unseen eyes nor was it the dark stonebeneath the cloak that swaddled the gems and precious metals to keep them safe. It was not a diamond of any color, though blind eyes might mistake it for one. Not a ruby or a sapphire or an emerald or a garnet. The not-diamond wasn’t quite sure what it was, only that it was home. Nestled deep in the mountain its purpose was to coax the gold and silver into great rivers winding through the stone. The precious gems needed homes of their own within the stone and the not-diamond spent much time listening to them and finding them perfect homes.

 _Not next to the diamonds!_ Sang the rubies. _We prefer the company of zircon and topaz!_

 _Jade is our friend! Place us near them!_ Diamonds demanded. _Though next to peridots will do just as well._

 _Keep us in the company of copper, if you please._ Malachite and its siblings requested.

 _Allow my amethysts and opals to stay near._ Whispered the sandstone.

And so the not-diamond spent ages singing every stone and ore into it’s place under the lullaby of the great mountain. Their songs wove together in harmony once each stone had a home and it was happy for a time. The not-diamond grew lonely though. It was the only one of its kind.

 _Be patient._ Something distinctly not stone whispered to the not-diamond. _You will have company when my children stir._

So it waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until at last, the mountain sang that visitors had come.

 _How grand! At last, we are not alone!_ The not-diamond sang as the dwarrow made the mountain their home. The jewels sang with delight as they were taken and fashioned in objects of great beauty by skilled hands. The gold and silver and copper fashioned into coins traveled far and wide before returning mountain and singing of the world it saw. The not-diamond longed to be found as the other gems and ores. To be held and admired by the dwarrow who so enjoyed the treasures the mountain offered.

As suddenly as they came, the dwarrow abandoned the mountain. If the not-diamond had been able to it would have wept to become alone again. Each stone in the mountain missed its people as the mountain sat empty for longer than the dwarrow had made it home. Oh how the not-diamond counted the time that slipped by, longing for the sounds of life within the mountain again.

 _Patience._ The same whisper came again. _My children will return home._

Patience was yet again rewarded as the dwarrow returned and oh how the mountain sang to see them again. Peace and plenty was returned to them and purpose was returned to the stones in the mountain. Gold began to travel again and returned with news of the world outside. The gems sang as they were once again beloved and crafted.

By chance or by fate, the dwarrow delved deep enough into the mountain to find the not-diamond. How happy it was as the dark stone gave way under a hammer and chisel and it saw light for the first time. Why, if it had a heart the not-diamond was sure it would be soaring as it was lifted with great care out of the blanket of stone that had held it for ages untold. It passed from hand to hand with with reverent whispers until it came to a dwarrow called Thror.

The not-diamond came to understand Thror was the ‘king,’ the leader of the dwarrow and he took to the forges himself to shape the not-diamond. He was even kind enough to give the not-diamond many names.

Arkenstone.

Kings Jewel.

Heart of the Mountain.

It came to live above the kings throne, shining for all to see.

The Arkenstone felt full to its edges with pride and love. Proud for its newly discovered glow and love for the people who adored it so. It would gladly shine as bright as the dwarrow’s asked it to for the dwarrows were good beyond measure as far as the Arkenstone was concerned. It would outshine the stars, the moon, even the sun if it were asked.

But alas, Thror grew sick under the Arkenstones very glow and it could do nothing but shine for him. Foolishly it hoped that the glow it gave the dwarrows could be light enough to guide Thror out of sickness.

It was not to be. Thror became sicker and sicker, blinded by the songs of the gold and gems until he couldn’t see anything else. The queen and prince whispered to the Arkenstone when Thror was away. Told it of their fears and troubles and of the depths of the sickness. The Arkenstone would have wept if it were able for the pain the sickness caused Thror’s family. It wanted none of this when it wished for company.

The dark days of sickness stretched on and on with no end in sight until something much worse than sickness came to the mountain. The stone sang a sharp song of danger.

_Hot wind like a hurricane._

_Dale burns._

_Dragon._

And the Arkenstone could do nothing but shine as the mountain burned too. Its light faltered when Thror came to it and released it from the throne.

 _Fool!_ It wished it could say. _I am not worth your life! Flee! Please!_

Thror could not hear its voice or heed its plea and the Arkenstone was dropped into a sea of gold as the dragon raged. The Arkenstone could only hope its dwarrows were able to escape. The mountain sang of sorrow and death as the dragon made its bed among the coins and treasures. How the Arkenstone wished it could weep for its dwarrows. It rested in its sorrow until the dragon had calmed its rage and fallen into slumber. With great pain and effort the Arkenstone shed its stone form and fled the mountain. The mountain sang farewell as the Arkenstone slipped through cracks and crevices before it. Silence began its reign over the mountain.

Half a world away the Arkenstone managed to fly. Over hills and mountain ranges and through great forests. It called out into the night begging for the powers that be to give it anything to help its dwarrows.

 _Anything!_ It begged. _I would do anything for them, even if I should fall into a sleep and never awaken. Anything to help them, I swear it on my light!_

For the longest time its pleas were met with silence. Nothing, not even the voice that begged patience answered it. An age may as well have passed before the Arkenstone heard any response. By then it had found its way into lush green hills and peaceful folk unaware of the mountain and its dragon and the plight of the dwarrows. A voice not unlike the dwarrow queens whispered softly with the wind drifting through sweet grass.

_What would you be willing to give for your beloved stone-folk?_

_Anything._ The Arkenstone pleaded. _Whatever you ask of me, I will give it!_

_What exactly do you want?_

_A way to help them. A form that does more than shine._

_Find your way to my children. Seek out my darling Belladonna but beware for this quest shall claim your light._

_My life for theirs is fair. I was nothing but a stone._

_Your magic has yet to come to the surface, little light. Seek out Belladonna and your pleas shall be answered._

And so the Arkenstone obeyed. It searched the hills for Belladona and found a small creature with bright eyes and many ribbons in her dark curls. She had a smile as bright as daylight and a longing for adventure as fierce as fire. She called the Arkenstone a fairy light and invited it to stay with her. Stay it did, tucked safely away in Belladonna’s heart until its time came to shine again.

Then, as most things do when passing from one life to the next, the Arkenstone forgot its many names and its suffering dwarrows. It forgot the dragon fire and the song of stone. For as far as he was concerned, he was Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. He was a Baggins of Bag End. A respectable Hobbit, once he reached his majority, who never went on adventures or did anything remotely unexpected.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a company of dwarves in his dining room and he is not happy. Even more unwelcome are the strange things he starts to see and the things he should not know.

In a hole in the ground lived a Hobbit. Not a dirty, nasty wet hole full of worms and oozy smells. This was a Hobbit hole and that meant comfort or at least it normally would. One fine evening in Bilbo Baggins’ fiftieth year his smial was distinctly not comfortable for him. Though it was very comfortable for the twelve dwarves who had arrived without warning. Bilbo quickly found himself standing in the middle of the sudden chaos that had befallen his smial, trying and failing to run herd on the dwarves pillaging his pantry and mucking up his carpet.

“Put that back. _Put that back!_ Not my prize-winners, thank you very much!” He wrested a bowl of tomatoes away from one of the dwarves. He couldn’t remember any of their names and he suspected that might be part of why they were happy to ignore him. _“That is Grandpa Mungo’s chair! That’s an antique! It is not for sitting!”_

By the time he had the chance to look into his pantry to asses the damage, he might as well have never had a pantry to begin with. Everything, save for the beets and the bowl of ripe tomatoes in his hand, was currently dying a gruesome death at the dining room table. An itch started crawling about under his skin, spreading from the tips of his fingers up his arms. He ducked out of sight of the dining room quickly as the glow followed shortly after. Bilbo had nearly forgotten about what his mother called his ‘fairy glow,’ a strange silver-white light that had followed him since his birth. He’d learned to bury it in his mind under thoughts of ice and snow as deep as the Fell Winter’s touch. He had gone decades without a hint of a glow to his person and the stories of his glow had long been dismissed as childish fancy.

A single evening with dwarves and Gandalf had brought his glow back something fierce.

“Bilbo, my dear old friend, whatever is the matter?” Gandalf had stepped away from the din to find him and didn’t look apologetic in the least. Bilbo might even go so far as to say the wizard look _pleased_ of all things.

“I am surrounded by dwarves! Look at this! They’ve-“ Bilbo shook out his hands, quickly burying the glow again while Gandalf merely raised a brow. “They’ve pillaged my pantry! There’s mud trod all over my carpets! My bathroom! The state of it! They’ve all but destroyed the plumbing!”

Gandalf had let himself be led around the smial by Bilbo’s insistent tugging on his sleeve. He appeared thoughtful as he took in the damage. There was quite a bit of mud trod all over the carpets Bilbo had carefully laid out to say nothing of the rest of the mud spread over the polished wooden floor under the carpets; there were new scuffs on the carefully decorated wall, the hall was littered with cloaks and various dangerous pointy things. Instruments too! Lain out to be stepped on or damaged or just to make walking across the floor miserable. Bilbo was going to have to spend hours cleaning it up! Hours! And as far as his bathroom went, he wasn’t sure there was a single soul West of Bree that would be willing to tidy it up without a hefty amount of payment.

“Come now, my dear fellow, they are quite a merry gathering once you get used to them.”

“I don’t want to-“ Bilbo felt a frustrated noise escape his throat as the itch and the glow returned. He shook his hands out again, thinking of winter to keep it all under control. “I don’t want to get used to them! I don’t understand what they’re doing in my house!”

“S’cuse me?” One of the dwarves, a young one if the sound of his voice was any indication, had wandered over with his plate in his hand. He glanced back at one of the silver haired dwarves who made a small ‘go on then’ motion with his hand. Bilbo’s stomach dropped. What else could his guests want? Dessert? Good heavens, he had forgotten dessert! He was a terrible host. Truly, the worst host in the Shire to have forgotten something as important as-

“I don’t mean to interrupt but what should I do with my plate?”

Bilbo was pleasantly surprised by the question and the attempt at proper manners. He would have given an equally polite answer to the young dwarf but before he could find the words the shaggy-looking golden dwarf had snatched the plate from the younger ones hand.

“Give it here, Ori.” The shaggy one then proceed to _throw his mothers West-Farthing pottery across the entire bloody smial._

“Can you not do that!” Bilbo let out a horrified squeak as the other dwarves began to join in, throwing the dishes here and there through the halls. “That’s my mother’s West-Farthing pottery! It’s over a hundred years old! And don’t do that to the knives, you’ll blunt them!”

Bilbo’s absolutely valid concerns about his pottery and silverware set the dwarves off on a terribly jovial song about all the things they presumed Bilbo Baggins hated. They were spot on, of course. He didn’t know of a single Hobbit who would enjoy having bones on their bedroom mat or their dishes pounded with a thumping pole until they were nothing but shards. Gandalf was no help, of course, standing out of the way of the flying pottery and lighting his pipe as he enjoyed the show.

Wizards!

Bilbo contemplated drawing up an invoice for all his troubles to be presented to Gandalf if so much as one of his plates was cracked. To his everlasting surprise Bilbo found all his plates and bowls and cups freshly washed and neatly stacked upon his kitchen table when the dwarves finished their song of torment. His face must have spoken volumes as another of the young dwarves fell off his chair with peals of laughter.

“Look at his face! By Mahal, he can’t believe it!” The young one (Kíli, was it? Or maybe it was Fíli? Oh bother, who knew?) kicked his legs up in the air and held his sides. The other dwarves were quick to follow in their laughter though none were quite as dramatic as the scruffy youngling.

“Oh dear, you’ve gone and upset the halfling,” Balin (the only one who had bothered to even be mildly polite at the door) gave Bilbo a pitying look between laughs. Bilbo felt the itch under his skin again and this time it spread like wildfire from the top of his curls to the curls on his feet. He did his best to stave off the glow before he lit up like a yuletide tree in front of the dwarves in his dining room.

Two solid knocks on the door saved Bilbo from both the laughter and the chances of a dwarvish homicide. It was almost alarming how quickly the dwarves shifted from merriment to grim silence, all eyes turning towards the door.

“He is here,” Gandalf announced quite seriously, gathering up his robes and making his way to the door.

“There are more of you?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask as he trailed after Gandalf. He couldn’t imagine his smial or his plumbing being able to survive another round of dwarvish company.

He needed a breath to compose himself before facing whoever was at the door. Drawing up images of snow and ice and frozen ground in his minds eye smothering and snuffing out the glow left him feeling a little more calm. Or at least as calm as he could be with twelve dwarves, a wizard and apparently more company coming through his door. He was very nearly feeling post-afternoon tea levels of calm until a mark on his door was mentioned.

“Mark? There is no mark on that door! It was painted a week ago!”

“There is a mark on the door. I put it there myself,” Gandalf said, sweeping the newest visitor inside so that he might take off his cloak and closing the door quickly. “Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo was beyond ready to have impolite words with another dwarf, this time he would most certainly tell the dwarf to keep his muddy boots at the door and to leave his poor pantry alone but the words died on his tongue as soon as they reached it.

Sapphires. Bilbo had seen small sapphires once when a traveling blacksmith sold some of his wares in Hobbiton. His parents had taken him to see the stall and as a faunt Bilbo had been fascinated. Most metalwork in the Shire was purely practical. Nails, tools, silverware and the like. The blacksmith had produced two small boxes for Bilbo’s mother. One housed a simple ring with a simply cut sapphire as its crown and the other box had cascading silver earrings with small sapphires nestled under the hook. Bilbo had wondered how simple stones could be so _blue._ Bluer than the Gamgees prized bluebells, bluer than Gandalf's fireworks, bluer than even the sky above them.

Thorin’s eyes were sapphires. Brilliant blue sapphires that caught Bilbo completely off guard and-

_Falling. Yes, he’s falling. He lands in a pair of eager hands and is turned over multiple times, even held up to the light for examination. He can see a young dwarrow face with Thror’s nose and sapphire eyes._

_“Thorin!”_

_He knows that voice. The Crown Princes Consort hurries over, snatching him from the childs hands._

_“Amad! I was only looking!” The youngling defends._

_“Thorin, you know better. This is your grandfathers,” the consort scolds, gently lifting his stone body and placing him back above Thrors throne._

_“It shines, Amad, I just wanted to see…” Thorin says guiltily. His mother lifts Thorin and places him on her hip, holding him close._

_“That is the Kings Jewel. It will be yours one day, turgarug, when you are King Under the Mountain,” she says with a warm smile._

_“I want to be king now!”_

_“I’m sure you do. Come, away from your mischief making my little one.” She carries Thorin away and he can see the younglings face on his mothers shoulder. He’s amused by the longing looks Thorin sends the throne and the stone and he makes sure to sparkle just a little bit brighter in reassurance. He is sure Thorin will make a great king someday._

“Axe or sword?”

Bilbo was brought back to himself rather abruptly with a wince. He found himself the center of many concerned looks as every dwarf and Gandalf stared at him.

“I’m… I’m terribly sorry, what was the question?” Bilbo asked. He scratched the top of his head to try and relieve the headache his… vision? Or perhaps it was some sort of memory? Whatever it was it had left his head hurting terribly.

“For your fighting, Master Hobbit,” Thorin repeated. “Your weapon of choice, axe or sword?”

“I beg your pardon, I don’t fight,” Bilbo said, aghast at the thought. “I do have some skill at Conkers if you must know though I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

A chuckle runs through the room as Thorin hands his cloak off to the young dwarf who had been laughing at Bilbo after the whole fiasco with the dishes. A smile even tugged at Thorins lips as he sized Bilbo up again as though he was some overeager child.

“I thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

Bilbo had the distinct feeling he had just been insulted by Thorin in his own home. The other dwarves in the hall laughed and clapped Thorin on the shoulder as he wandered further into the smial. Gandalf breathed what seemed to be a sign of relief, bracing himself against one of the doorways.

“Bilbo, my lad, I believe the leader of our company might need dinner. Be a good lad, then, see if you can’t fetch him some food. Our other friends will be in need of more ale, I imagine.” Gandalf nodded.

“Dinner? Those dwarves have destroyed my pantry, what dinner-“

“I have faith in you, my dear Bilbo. Off you go.” Gandalf cleared his throat and returned to the dining room leaving Bilbo to gape after him. Insulted in his own home! Made to produce food out of thin air for ungrateful guests! Yavanna save him and simply send him to have tea with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins instead, it would be a gentler punishment! He was a Baggins, though, and being a Baggins meant being an excellent host. By Eru that meant he spent the next half hour filling cups with ale he’d kept hidden to age and making beet-tomato soup so his latest rude visitor could have something warm to eat. Not that he got a single word of thanks for it from the dwarves, just a nod from Thorin and requests for cups to be refilled.

He could hear bits of the business the dwarves spoke of with low tones. Words like ‘envoy,’ ‘seven kingdoms,’ ‘Iron-Hills,’ ‘quest’ and ‘Daín.’ None of it meant anything to him as he bustled about being a good host but his Tookish side was quite interested in all the chatter. Eventually he was able to stand at Gandalf’s side. None of the dwarves offered their host a chair but Bilbo let that go with a disappointed sniff.

“You’re all going on a quest?” Bilbo tried to ask casually when the conversation reached a lull. He found himself the center of attention again as some of the dwarves looked at him incredulously.

“Bilbo, my boy!” Gandalf said quickly, starting to rifle through his various pockets. “Bring your light a little closer- ah, no, no, you shouldn’t need to fetch a candle, that glow of yours will do.”

“My what? I- sweet Yavanna!” Bilbo groaned as he looked down at his hands. Despite his best efforts he had begun to glow again and not just in his hands either. He could feel himself glowing from head to toe with silver-white light roughly as bright as a small candle.

“That’s a good lad.” Gandalf spoke with a grim and serious tone as he unfolded a small sheet of parchment, spreading it on the table to reveal a map. “Far to the East, over ranges and rivers beyond woodlands and wastelands lies a single solitary peak.”

Gandalf traced a finger over the map and came to a stop over a mountain drawn in dark ink with a red inked dragon above it. Bilbo could swear he saw that dragon move as he took in the entirety of the map. The name on the map read ‘The Lonely Mountain’ but another name passed his lips instead.

“Erebor…” The word slipped out as little more than a murmur but it drew Thorin’s attention. Bilbo stiffened as Thorin’s gaze held him still before it moved to Gandalf instead and he could feel an entire silent conversation pass between the two of them right over his head.

“That is one name for it, yes,” Gandalf said finally, breaking the silence. Bilbo took a breath and leaned back as one of the red-bearded dwarves started talking about portents.

Something was absolutely wrong with all of this. His glow had snuck out without his noticing in quite a bit of company and his headache was brought back with a vengeance by a map. It felt like something was eluding him, something important. It was right on the tip of his tongue but it refused to come forward, taunting him.

“That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age,” said the dwarf with the hat, drawing Bilbo out of his thoughts.

“Excuse me?”

“You asked what beast, Master Halfling,” the hatted dwarf smiled as he shrugged and began gesturing with his pipe. “Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors. Claws like meathooks. Extremely fond of precious metals.”

“I know what a dragon is, thank you,” Bilbo quipped in response. He couldn’t recall asking a question and went back to rubbing the top of his head as the table exploded into chaos. He hardly had the sense left to parse out what each dwarf was yelling about. Gandalf is a wizard this, they need an army for this quest that back and forth so loudly Bilbo began to feel concerned that his neighbors might hear the ruckus.

At least until Thorin shouted and then Bilbo was certain his neighbors and perhaps the whole of the shire could hear the noise in his dining room. Bilbo would never have guessed dwarves to be so dramatic as Thorin gave a rousing speech to which he did not pay much attention. Bilbo kept rubbing his head to ease the ache as Balin cut through the cheer Thorin had instilled in the table.

“The front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.”

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true,” Gandalf said, a key appearing between his fingers. The sight of the key made Bilbo’s chest ache with something he couldn’t define. A longing of sorts that gave his Tookish self fantasies of adventures and great mountain halls. The Baggins in him cut that longing short.

“How came you by this?” Thorin’s voice was the only sound that cut through the silence at the table as every dwarf trained their eyes upon the key.

“It was given to me by your father.” Gandalf held the end of the key out to Thorin and Bilbo was struck by the silliest name he thought he had ever heard echoing in his thoughts - _Thrain, son of Thror._ “For safekeeping, of course. It is yours now.”

Thorin took the key quietly and turned it over in his hands. Bilbo half wished he could see the key up close himself, curious about the air of wonder it seemed to carry.

“If there is a key, there must be a door.” The shaggy blond dwarf at the end of the table leaned forward and the scruffy one beside him seemed absolutely fascinated by that chain of logic.

“There’s another way in,” the scruffy dwarf murmured, clasping the shaggy ones shoulder.

“If we can find it,” Gandalf chided. “But dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies somewhere hidden in this map but I do not have the skill to find it. There are others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever I believe that it can be done.”

Gandalf looked quite pointedly at Bilbo as he finished speaking. Bilbo was sure he was supposed to derive some great meaning from all the significant looks he was getting from the table but he could not for the life of him puzzle it out.

“That’s why we need a burglar!” The young polite dwarf exclaimed as he hopped to his feet.

“Er… yes. An expert I’d imagine.” Bilbo cursed his fool tongue for speaking and landing him in a sticky situation where the obtuse group at his table believed him to be an expert burglar despite his insistence that he had _never_ stolen a thing in his life! And Gandalf was absolutely no help at all. He boomed that Bilbo Baggins was a burglar as his shadow rumbled and filled every corner of the smial.

Suitably terrified, the dwarves agreed to give hand him a contract. Well, ‘hand’ in only the loosest sense of the term, it was actually quite forcefully shoved into his chest and he had to take a few steps back to balance again. Let it not be said that Bilbo Baggins, grandson to the Thain and land-owner of the Shire did not read the contracts presented to him. He unfolded the entire thing to find it was nearly as long as he was tall. It seemed a bit excessive, something like what Lobelia Sackville-Baggins might draw up for her friends.

 _Terms: Cash upon delivery up to but not exceeding 1/14_ _ th _ _of total profit if any. Present company shall not be held liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to lacerations, evisceration, incineration-_

“Oh aye, he’ll melt the bones off you in the blink of an eye.” The hatted dwarf leaned in the doorway. Had Bilbo spoken out loud again when he hadn’t been meaning to? A sick feeling started to wind its way through Bilbo at the thought of the horrors his contract had so far described. It didn’t help that his headache was worse than ever and he could swear on his entire smial he saw the shadow of a dragon fly over his hearth.

“Are you all right, laddie?” Balin asked from the table.

“Just… Just feeling a bit faint.” Bilbo put his hands on his knees, trying to steady himself. The contract was absolute madness and so was whatever the dwarves were setting out to accomplish. They were making his imagination play up, that was all.

“Think furnace with wings,” the hatted dwarf supplied helpfully. “Flashing light. Searing pain and the poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash.”

Bilbo needed air and he needed the dwarves to shut up. None of this was helping, not his headache, not his imagination, not the faint chorus of screams he thought he could hear from the fire in his hearth. The world swam before his eyes for a moment and he thought he might be able to keep his dignity and go off to faint in private but Eru would give him no such luck. He ended up sprawled on the rug not a moment later.

When he came to he was sat in an armchair by his hearth and a cup of tea was pushed in his hands by the silver-haired dwarf with many intricate braids. Gandalf sat not far from Bilbo’s chair, concerned and amused in equal parts. He tried his best to coax Bilbo into signing the contract but Bilbo’s mind had been made up since the moment he came to.

He would not leave the shire.

No amount of protest from his Tookish side or tall tales spun by Gandalf would make him leave his books and armchair and comforts of home. He told Gandalf as much and excused himself to bed properly. Perhaps if the dwarvish troop was still in his smial come morning he could make them a warm breakfast and send them off with a hearty ‘do come back for tea’ then lock his door and go back to his ordinary, expected life. It was all he could do for them, really.

By the time he reached his room, he didn’t have the energy to change into his bed clothes or even do more than sit on the edge of the bed and rest his aching head against one of the bannisters. Through his door he could hear the dwarves sing around his hearth. It was a slow and sad song brought more gravity by the deep tones of the dwarvish voices. The song carried him off to sleep and that night Bilbo Baggins dreamt of great mountain halls and seams of gold that wound their way through stone colored over with dragon-fire.

By morning his smial was empty and he should have been jumping for joy. No more dwarves! No more talk of adventures! No more talk of dragons and painful deaths. True, his smial was still in a right state after his unexpected visitors but a good cleaning would erase any sign the dwarves had ever been there.

It was fantastic!

It was song-worthy!

It was… incredibly lonely.

Bilbo walked the halls and found himself by his hearth. His guests had been unexpected and even unwelcome but they had breathed life into the halls of the smiall. Life that had not been seen since the Fell Winter left Bilbo alone in a smial full of memories. He hadn’t heard singing in the halls or laughter from the dining table in more than three decades and now that it was gone… why, Bilbo felt like a piece of him was missing. The night before had been the warmest the smial had felt in ages but now it stood alone with Bilbo again.

It was absolutely unbearable.

Bilbo found he could not stand the silence in which he used to revel. It became oppressive instead of comforting. So when he stumbled across the contract laid out on one of his tables with a bottle of ink and a quill placed beside the spot where he was to sign his name Bilbo barely gave it a thought.

He signed the contract and contract and ran out his door.

The entire Shire saw him as he cut across fields and leapt over fields, his glow out in full force but he felt no shame. If anyone asked him how he knew where to go he wouldn’t be able to answer. He followed his feet and found his way against all odds to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield and their ponies, brandishing his signed contract like a badge of honor.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t expect some kind of excited welcome from the dwarves since he’d just saved them the trouble of needing to find different burglar. He got placed on a pony for all his troubles as the dwarves cashed in on the bets they’d made on him. It made him want to turn round and march his silly hobbit self right back to his smial but he had signed a contract and the embarrassment of returning to the Shire a scant few hours after he’d left might very well kill him. He resigned himself to being as under appreciated as a company member as he had been a host the night before and quite reluctantly settled into the saddle on his pony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read and commented, bookmarked and followed my humble little story! Groundwork chapters feel boring to write but they are ever so important. I hope you'll stay tuned for chapter three!  
> Amad - Mother  
> Turgarug - Tiny Beard


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori lets slip why the dwarves don't ask about Bilbo's glow, Bilbo hears a story and whispers in the stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever calculated how old Thorin was when Smaug took Erebor and Azanulbizar happened? He was in his twenties for Erebor and his fifties for Azanulbizar and dwarves are considered adults in their seventies. Like, no wonder this dude has Issues and needs a therapist. His formative years were rough.

Bilbo’s great adventure spent many days in the beginning being rather lonely and boring. He would be lying if he said the long days of riding ponies wasn’t both a blessing and a disappointment. The company was on a noble quest to reclaim a mountain from a dragon after all. Bilbo had expected a bit more danger than rainstorms and a lack of second breakfast, among other important meals. He found himself in Gandalfs company quite a lot in the beginning days. He was an outsider to even the kindest of the dwarves in the company, so he stuck by the only other outsider. That didn’t help much as Gandalf was prone to wandering off. By and large the only company Bilbo could count on was his pony.

In the end it was Bofur, the hatted dwarf, that extended the first tentative olive branch to Bilbo. He started bringing Bilbo the days dinners and settling beside him. Bofurs kindness made dinner quite pleasant each evening as they spent the time before the first watch and fitful sleep exchanging stories. Bofur was even kind enough to help him sort out who was who in the company. At the sight of Bofur warming up to Bilbo, Bomber was not far behind in trying to include him in various tasks. Bilbo found no small amount of joy in being contracted to help Bombur select the best herbs or keep the campfire at just the right temperature to cook dinner. He was fairly sure even the dwarf with an ax in his head, Bifur, had warmed up to him in his own way after a while.

None of them asked after the glow.

He was surprised at first considering that back in his smial he had glowed enough for to read the map. Surely they were curious even if Bilbo didn’t have any answers for them. He had brought his glow under the usual strict control shortly after joining the company and was beginning to suspect that the dwarves had dismissed it entirely. He was wrong.

He should have known Fíli and Kíli were up to mischief when they chose to sit on either side of him at dinner after a long days ride. Bofur had just handed him a bowl of soup and returned to the pot to protect whatever was left from Bomburs appetite, leaving Bilbo quite unguarded.

“Mr. Boggins! Settle a wager for us!” Kíli threw his arm around Bilbo casually, nearly making him spill his meal. “Is your glow a curse or magic?”

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo spluttered.

Ori looked up from his own dinner at Kíli’s question, a frown crossing his face. “Gandalf said- Gandalf said not to ask about that.”

Fíli glanced at Ori, suddenly seeming to think twice about the wager. “On second thought, maybe we shouldn’t ask after it Kee.”

“Traitor!” Kíli pouted at his brother. He recovered quickly and fixed his best attempt at puppy eyes on Bilbo “I still want to know, so tell!”

“Wait just a moment now, Gandalf told you not to ask after the glow?” Bilbo asked.

“We figured since you’re part of the company now it wouldn’t-” Bofur reappeared and cut Kíli off by rapping him and his brother on the head with a ladle.

“Oi, you pebbles, leave our burglar alone! Ain’t you supposed to watch the ponies anyhow?” Bofur scolded, brandishing the ladle threateningly. The terrible twosome made a hasty retreat with their soup bowls, nearly tripping over each other in the process. “Ah don’t mind them, Bilbo. They’re both about as clever as damp rocks but they didn’t mean any harm.”

Bilbo offered a smile to Bofur as he sat down but it wasn’t convincing.

“Did it really upset you that bad? I’m sorry, I’ll have a talk with the lads,” Bofur offered.

Bilbo shook his head and looked back down at his soup, stirring it idly with his spoon. “Did Gandalf really tell you not to ask?”

Bofur nodded and didn’t press the matter further. 

As much as it was a habit to hide his strange little glow, Bilbo almost wished for the dwarves to ask after it so it would all be out in the open and not the proverbial Oliphant in the room. He sat at the fire until his soup had gone cold mulling over what he had learned. Bofur wandered off to have Óin give him something for the pain he complained of in his shoulder. After everyone had eaten, the campfire was tended to and the bedrolls were laid out. Bilbo should have tried to go to sleep like almost everyone else in the group but his curiosity got the better of him and he left the safety of the fire to seek answers from the wizard.

Gandalf had set himself a little ways from where the dwarves had settled to sleep. He sat against a rock smoking and watching the night sky. The moon had risen above the treeline and waned to crescent since Bilbo had left Bag End in what felt like an ages past.

“Ah, Bilbo.” Gandalf smiled when he caught Bilbo approaching, puffing quite contentedly on his pipe. “Fine evening we’re having, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You told them not to ask after my glow?”

“Indeed I did,” he answered and tilted his head back to blow a few smoke rings through the air. “You wish to know why, I take it? Well I thought it would be rather impolite.”

“We’re a bit past impolite at this point, Gandalf,” Bilbo replied a bit more snappishly than he had intended.

“That’s true. They’ve asked after it then I suppose? And what did you tell them?”

“I- nothing. I didn’t tell them anything. I don’t have the answers for it.”

“So then it is good that they do not ask further. Your light has no bearing on your ability to make this journey, my friend, and I told our company as much.”

“But they are curious,” Bilbo protested.

“Let them be curious. You have your fair share of curiosities about our companions that you do not voice.” Gandalf had a point. The axe in Bifurs head came to mind as did Bofurs bad shoulder and Noris habit of stealing Dwalins pipe.

“Fine, fine. Oh bother, you’ve made your point.” Bilbo sighed and rubbed his hands on his jacket, feeling the itch under his skin as his glow threatened to come to the surface.

He very nearly had himself under control when a shriek echoed across the Wilds. It wasn’t wolf-song. Bilbo knew wolf-song well. It had been burned into his memory as intimately as the cold of the Fell Winter he used to keep himself under control. No, this high piercing shriek was different. It sang of evil for evils’ sake and had him on edge as he looked out into the wild. He could see nothing in the darkness outside the camp even by the light of the moon.

“Orcs.”

The whisper by his ear had a scream threatening to escape his throat. He had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep silent as his glow came out silver-white and tinted faint orange at the edges with his fear. Kíli slung an arm around him casually and laughed, looking quite pleased at the reaction he’d gotten.

“Don’t worry, we’ll protect you.”

“Did you say orcs?” Bilbo hated how his voice came out in a squeak, but he couldn’t help the fear that made his throat tight.

“Aye, throat cutters. There will be dozens of them prowling the wilds,” Fíli supplied helpfully from his spot by the fire. Kíli let out a small laugh as if it wasn’t absolutely terrifying to have orcs on the prowl possibly nearby.

“Come on, then! Come by the fire, we’ll keep you safe,” Kíli assured as he pulled Bilbo over to the fire and settled him next to Fili before sitting on his other side. Fíli chuckled and even offered him a blanket. Bilbo took care to wrap himself up and hide his glow He couldn’t dampen the glow on his own as his mind raced with the horror stories of orcs he’d heard as a faunt.

“You think a night raid by orcs is funny?” Thorin’s voice stopped Fíli and Kíli chuckling. He appeared across the fire from them, strapping his sword to his belt and glowering. He turned after he deemed the two young dwarves suitably chastened and stalked off towards the edge of the camp.

Balin took pity on them after Thorin was out of earshot and settled on Fíli’s opposite side. “Don’t worry. Any of you. No orc pack will dare come close.”

“We’ve heard stories,” Fíli spoke softly like a child, “but why is he so mad? We didn’t mean anything by it, not really.”

“I know, laddie, I know,” Balin soothed. “Your uncle has more cause than most to hate orcs. Were you ever told of Azanulbizar?”

Balin let out a low sigh when they shook their heads and began his tale in a grave tone.

“The tale begins when Thror thought to retake Moria. He went to the gates with only one other, a dwarrow called Nár, expecting a kings welcome. The orcs had gotten there first. He entered the mountain alone while Nár waited nearby. Many days later Thrors body was thrown out horribly mutilated and Nár was sent back with a message. Azog the Defiler, the pale Gundabad orc, would end the line of Durin as he had ended Thror if they sought to thieve from him again. Nár turned tail and fled, leaving Thrors body to who knows what horrors. It was never recovered.

“Nár took this tale to Thrain and after seven days of silent grief it was decided we would march on Moria. It was a terrible battle. We were outnumbered. Overrun. Death closed in around us from all sides. No one alive could say what happened to Thrain that day, taken prisoner or perhaps killed. But Thorin… Thorin faced down the pale orc himself. A young prince who hadn’t even reached his majority, his armor rent and wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. He cut Azog down against all odds. Our forces rallied, and we drove the orcs back but Moria was not reclaimed. There were no celebrations only dead beyond the count of grief.

“That day. That awful, awful day, I saw Thorin return home a king. Not just a king by birthright but a king I could follow. A king who would lead us to a better life.” Balin allowed the last words to hang in the air as his misty gaze to drifted away from the fire to where Thorin stood keeping watch.

“And the pale orc? What happened to him?” Bilbo asked quietly.

“Dead.” Dwalin groused from nearby. “Filthy scum would have died not long after the battle.”

The camp fell into silence for a long while. Every dwarf who had been awake and listening to the tale turned their eyes to their leader. Bilbo felt like he was witnessing an unspoken bond become cemented among them, a bond he wasn’t sure he had a place in. After all, who was he among them? A small, odd, scared Hobbit was nothing next to warriors, legends and a wizard.

He carefully extracted himself from his fireside seat, still wrapped in his blanket, and made his way back to his bedroll beside Bofur. He settled on his side with the soles of his feet towards the fire and his eyes towards Thorin’s back. Bilbo thought he certainly cut a dramatic and regal figure keeping watch under the night sky. Though he also thought Thorin’s life must weigh on him. How difficult, how lonely it must feel to carry the weight of his peoples hopes and dreams without the option to crack under the pressure. Bilbo knew he could not stand such a life. It was hard enough carrying the tentative hope of thirteen dwarves that he could burgle under the nose of a possibly-not-dead dragon if they didn’t all die before reaching the mountain.

Bilbo did not hope to find sleep with all the thoughts in his head. He closed his eyes to tried to rest anyway. He felt he had only blinked and moonrise had become dawn. Thorin was no longer keeping watch at the edge of the camp, instead working with the other early risers to begin breaking camp. Bilbo did his own part of breaking camp quietly.

After the mornings food was eaten and Bilbo snuck Myrtle the pony an apple, he was feeling much better thank you very much. He was back in control of himself and even able to get into his saddle on the very first try, yes it was a good morning indeed. He meant to ride along next to Bofur as per usual and wile away the morning hours of riding in comfortable company but as soon as they set out Bilbo found himself stuck between Fíli and Kíli’s ponies. Bilbo would not lie, he expected some sort of prank or ridiculousness but the two looked more guilty than mischievous when they spoke up.

“Mr. Boggins,” Fíli started, appearing contrite. “We’re- we’re very sorry about last night.”

“We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or, or scare you that bad,” Kíli continued. “Honest, we didn’t. We won’t do it again.”

The two looked rather like kicked puppies as Bilbo looked back and forth between them waiting for mischief that never came. He couldn’t really be terribly upset with them, he’d done his own mischief-making as a faunt. Granted none of it involved asking people if they had been cursed or terrifying someone about orcs.

“Apology accepted. Thank you,” Bilbo nodded at each of them. The bright smiles he received in return were near blinding, and he was quite suddenly one of their new favorites. Fíli and Kíli brought him further into the fold of the company; it only took one mention of the cultural differences between Hobbits and dwarves for Ori to join the rotation of dwarves who kept him company. Nori wasn’t far behind his little brother in coming around to Bilbo’s company.

The nights spent quiet or alone became fewer and farther apart. Bilbo had started to feel like things were going very well. Not everyone in the company had warmed up to him but with those who had made such an effort to make him feel welcome it began not to matter. It had been going so well…

Until nearly a full moon cycle later Gandalf disappeared in a foul temper declaring himself the only one who had any sense and muttering curses upon the stubbornness of dwarves. It was not entirely unusual for Gandalf to wander off, but he had never done it in such a needlessly dramatic fashion. The company seemed unbothered but it made Bilbo worry.

Camp had been set up near the ruins of a house after Gandalf had left. The house was barely standing, the charred support beams stabilized only by a low stone wall and chimney held up what was left of the roof. A strong wind would likely make it collapse. It wasn’t a place Bilbo would call welcoming or homey as he wandered around it assessing the damage. He saw something under the burnt foliage clinging to the wall, or at least he thought he did, and he brushed it away to touch the stone beneath.

That was when he heard it, voices from the stone.

_Fire! So hot!_

_The farmer is gone! Eaten!_

_Danger!_

Whispers on the edge of shrieks filled his ears, and he drew his hand back from the stone as though it had burned him. He looked between his hand and the stone wondering what on Yavanna’s Good Green Earth he’d just heard.

“Master Baggins.” A voice behind him made Bilbo jump with fright. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he turned and saw it was only Thorin. “Are you well?”

“Fine! I’m- I’m fine,” Bilbo assured, resting a hand over his heart. If the adventure didn’t kill him, the fright the dwarves kept causing him might do in his poor heart. Thorin was still watching him when Bilbo’s heart finally returned to its normal rhythm. It was unnerving, like he was taking Bilbo apart and weighing what he found.

“I um… I’m going to go help make dinner,” Bilbo announced after clearing his throat. He nodded in Thorin’s direction and turned on his heel, marching himself around the house and back to the camp. He kept turning over what he’d heard when he touched the stone, wondering if it meant anything. Gandalf had said they were safe on the Great East Road. If Gandalf said it then that meant it was true.

Didn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thror's death is super metal in the text so I've tried to sort of meld the text and movie story because it was just too good to pass up.  
> Next time: Bilbo discovers what the inside of a Troll Hoard smells like.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A troll hoard is most definitely not a decent place if the smell is anything to go by.

Troll snot smelled atrocious.

Getting shoved into a sack and tossed into a pile with thirteen similarly sacked dwarves was incredibly uncomfortable.

Fíli and Kíli were as smart as damp rocks.

All this Bilbo learned in the space of twenty chaotic minutes the night Gandalf stormed off. Take dinner to the lads, Bofur said. Two ponies are missing, Fíli said. The trolls will never notice you, Kíli said.It will be easy, they said. Yet there he was, captured and covered in troll snot in a sack in a pile of dwarves.

Yavanna save him.

A chorus of shouts and swears interrupted Bilbo’s scowling as Bert, the troll ‘cook,’ started rooting through the pile of dwarves and muttering to himself.

“Lemme see, lemme see… Here we are, Tom, strip this one down and tie him to the spit! He’s got a right bit of meat on his bones,” Bert guffawed, tossing Bofur over to the most ill-tempered troll. Bofur put up a fight once they got him out of the sack, letting out a string of vitriol that was impressive enough to make Bilbo blush. Unfortunately a dwarf on his own wasn’t quite a match for a determined troll.

“A fighter this one! Pretty sure this is the one who knocked out me teeth,” Tom replied as he stripped Bofur down to his underclothes and tied to a very large spit.

Bert continued to dig through the pile of dwarves for some time, tossing members of the party he deemed ‘edible’ to Tom. Bifur, Dwalin, Ori, Nori, Dori and Fíli joined Bofur on the spit in similar fashion. Bilbo tried to scoot back and out of Berts reach, not particularly keen on being cooked or eaten. He thought he had backed into a rock but when he looked back it was only Thorin. Somehow, Bilbo thought, even tied up in a sack on the forest floor he managed to looked regal. He glowered at Bilbo and Bilbo felt rather ashamed. He was the reason everyone was in a sack in the first place, having failed to burgle the ponies and only succeeding in getting the entire group sacked.

“We can fit one more on the spit, how about this one?” Bert lifted Glóins sack from the group, holding him upside down and examining him. “This ones got shinies on him!”

“Shinies? Give it here!” Bill, the beak-nosed troll with a cold, lunged across the clearing and snatched Glóin from Berts hands.

“Get your hands off me, you ugly beads of sweat on a lizards ass, or I’m gonna-“ A shout of pain cut off furious swears as Bill set about pulling out the beads Glóin had carefully braided into his beard. He started cussing up a storm but it didn’t seem to matter. Bilbo felt himself wince in sympathy with each torn out bead.Bill clearly did not care about the pain he was causing, plucking each bead with single-minded determination.

“Hey, we don’t have all night,” Tom glanced at the sky from his place beside the fire, “hurry up and give me my share of the shinies so we can cook some dwarf. Dawn ain’t far off and I don’t fancy getting turned to stone.”

Bill did not hand over any of the beads. He tucked them away in one of his ratty pockets instead and added Glóin to the spit before he seated himself beside the fire. The bickering started again.

Dawn. Stone. Shinies.

A wonderfully awful Tookish idea occurred to Bilbo as he listened to the trolls bicker and the dwarves curse. He might have gotten them into this mess but the trolls were half-wits at best and if he had a little luck on his side he could get his dwarves out of this jam without any of them being sautéed.

The only snag was his plan required glowing.

Bilbo had never dared to glow on purpose. He had hidden it, smothered it, locked it away as best he could but he had never called upon it. The glow was either there or it was not. He didn’t have a choice at this point, if he was going to distract the trolls he was going to need to glow.

“Lift up the spit, put ‘em over the fire,” Bert instructed.

“Can’t we just sit on them and squash them into jelly?” Bill whined only to receive a soup ladle to the forehead for his complaints.

“Shut it! I’m the cook!” Bert snapped, brandishing the ladle as a threat as Bill cowered.

Tom lifted the spit with eight struggling dwarves tied to it and set it above the fire. Tom and Bert began to take turns slowly turning the spit and attempting to roast Bilbo’s companions. Bilbo scowled to himself and set about blocking out all the noise so he could focus.

To dampen the glow and pull it back under his skin out of sight Bilbo called up images of the Fell Winter. He imagined the frozen Brandywine, drifts of snow that covered the good green earth and trees covered in ice crystals. It followed that perhaps if he melted the ice he would glow, so that’s what he did. He turned winter to spring in his mind; the Brandywine became its usual self again, the fields became full of green grass and flowers and the trees put on their green cloaks.

“Bilbo!” Kíli hissed, startling Bilbo out of his thoughts by gracelessly falling across his lap. “Bilbo, you have to hide! You’re glowing again and the trolls will notice!”

“I am? Oh, good!” Bilbo squirmed his way out from under the young dwarf. Kíli stared at him with eyes the size of plates as Bilbo struggled quite embarrassingly to get to his feet and hop towards the fire. “Excuse me! Excuse me please!”

“What the…?” Bert muttered and suddenly three interested trolls were staring intently at Bilbo.

“Er… yes, hello, excuse me,” Bilbo blabbered out a few niceties. Checking the sky it was still only the beginnings false dawn, possibly up to an hour before the first true rays of the sun would come. “I um… I was wondering what kind of seasonings you’re using! Cooking dwarf and all, you see I cook a bit myself, being by myself and I’m always looking for new recipes and seasonings! Yes I am!”

The clearing was silent for a beat and then the dwarves erupted once more, this time directing their ire at Bilbo. Kíli shouted about Bilbo betraying the group and Dwalin made several less than kind and very threatening gestures from his place on the spit. Even Bofur seemed rather upset. Bilbo fought the urge to roll his eyes and plastered on the most innocent look he could muster. Apparently dwarves didn’t understand playing for time.

“… Tom, is that a talking shiny?” Bert asked. He tromped over to Bilbo and jabbed him with one finger.

“Innit the ferret that came outta Bills nose?” Tom replied, interested but not enough to stop turning the spit.

“Seasonings!” Bilbo squeaked out as Bert continued to poke at him. “Tell me about the seasonings!”

“A talking shiny…” Bert murmured. He leaned down to stare at Bilbo, close enough that Bilbo could smell the rot in his teeth and see all the fine wispy hairs growing in unfortunate patches all over his face. If dwarves were made of carefully carved stone, thought Bilbo, then trolls were haphazard piles of mud and clay made in mockery.

Bill was suddenly on his feet and he lumbered around the fire quickly. He gave Bert a hard shove and sent the cook troll sprawling just a few feet from the dwarves on the forest floor. Bilbo felt another squeak escape him as Bill’s massive hand scooped him up and squeezed so tightly he thought he might pop.

“It came out of _my_ nose! It’s _my_ shiny! You can’t have it!” Bill sqwuaked, shaking Bilbo a few times for emphasis. Bilbo groaned and tried to politely ask to be set down but he hardly had the air for words. Even if he could speak it might not have done any good. Bert was back on his feet and he had his ladle out again.

“Hand it over, Bill,” Tom said, still not even bothered to move from his place spinning the spit. “I saw you keep the dwarf shinies, someone else gets the talking shiny.”

Bill then clutched Bilbo with both hands and held him to his chest. Bilbo got a very ill-advised nose-full of troll-stench and gagged. Outnumbered and under threat from Berts ladle Bill opted to flee instead. Bilbo’s stomach sank to his feet as the firelight disappeared into the trees. The sounds of startled shouts faded. After only a few of Bill’s lumbering strides Bilbo was well and truly alone with the troll.

His dwarves were all going to get eaten before ever reaching the mountain because Bilbo thought he could be clever.

Bill eventually slowed down and Bilbo craned his neck to try to see where he was going to end up dying. The stench hit him first. It was the worst thing to happen to his nose since the great skunk debacle in old Hobbiton Square. Something or many somethings had died and been piled up to rot in a damp cellar and then rolled in by a troll. It was the kind of stench to make the hair on his feet curl twice over and then fall off. Bill did not seem to mind.

“Here we are, shiny!” Bill crowed as he climbed into what Bilbo could only guess was some sort of cave and the stench got even worse. Bilbo could see a bit thanks to his glow but he couldn’t see anything of use. Just a hodgepodge of strange shadowed shapes.

Bill shifted to holding Bilbo with one hand while his other hand gathered up many small clinking things. Without warning Bilbo was swung around and sat not too comfortably on a pile of what felt like coins. Glóin’s beard beads were freed from Bills pockets and deposited into Bilbo’s lap. He barely managed to sit so none of them bounced and rolled away when Bill collapsed into a sitting position in front of Bilbo.

“Er… hello..?” Bilbo offered. “Don’t suppose you’ll carry me back to the others?”

“A talking shiny…” was all Bill felt like contributing as an answer.

“What about your dinner? Surely you’ll miss it staying here!”

“They’ll take away my shiny if I go back!” Bill scoffed and clumsily crossed his arms. “They’re mean because I’m the smallest.”

“You look quite big from here,” Bilbo assured with a nervous laugh.

“How exactly did you come outta my nose with arms and legs and everything? Tom said there was nothin’ in my head!”

Bilbo knew an opportunity when he heard it. Maybe, just maybe he could talk circles around Bill long enough for him to fall asleep and Bilbo could hop to safety. Or to Gandalf. Whichever came first. Bilbo would bet his collection of pocket handkerchiefs that while trolls were half-wits, Bill was likely closer to a quarter-wit. Easily outwitted. So, determined to live at least long enough to try to escape, Bilbo began to weave a fantastic tale for Bill. Not a good tale, nothing he would subject any readers or eager fauntlings to, but a tale of little sense and much silliness to pass the time.

It was working, Bill was quite distracted and hanging off Bilbo’s every word but something was terribly, terribly wrong. Bilbo was sure he must have spoken for well over an hour and no daylight had come into the cave. He knew daylight would not reach very far into the cave but there should have been some evidence of dawn.

Suddenly from outside the cave came a voice that sounded not unlike Bert, “oi, Bill! Are you in there?”

Bill perked up and turned his eyes towards the opening of the cave. “What do you want? You can’t have my shiny!”

“Dinner is ready,” called Berts voice. “Sautéed those dwarves and sprinkled ‘em with sage!”

“That does sound quite nice…” Bill spoke over the cry that worked its way free of Bilbo’s throat. His dwarves were dead. Eaten. By half-wit trolls. Bill got to his feet and left Bilbo to sit in his pile of coins while he went to enjoy his dinner.

Grief was a familiar feeling. It wound its way through Bilbo’s chest with each step Bill took. Forty days he had been in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield and many of the members had become dear to him. Now they were gone and it was Bilbo’s fault. He would wallow in a troll cave until-

Bill let out a shriek as soon as his steps reached the outside of the cave. A loud rumbling sound followed shortly after and suddenly the darkness that lingered at the front of the cave gave way to midmorning light. Cheers and chatter could be heard from outside. Hope relieved the grief that had gnawed at his chest since Bill snatched him up.

“Hello? Excuse me? Is anyone out there?” Bilbo called, trying to twist around without spilling any of the beads still in his lap.

“Bilbo? Bilbo, my lad, is that you?” That was Gandalfs voice. Bilbo felt his entire body sag with relief. A chorus of dwarvish voices followed after and Bilbo couldn’t have felt happier.

“Bless my beard, our burglar’s alive!”

“Mr. Boggins! Don’t worry! We’re coming!”

“Mahals balls, what is that stench!?”

“It is a troll hoard, Master Dwarf, I don’t know what you expected,” Gandalf admonished as he came into view, lighting the cave with stone at the end of his staff. “Bilbo! There you are! I say, someone help our burglar out of his sack.”

Dwalin was the first of the dwarves behind Gandalf and he posted himself to keep watch. Thorin followed after Dwalin, no longer in a sack and carrying a simple torch. He paused a moment to look at Bilbo, raising one brow in either mild amusement or annoyance. Bilbo could feel his ears turn pink in embarrassment and he squirmed a bit for emphasis.

“Well? Am I getting out of this sack or not?”

“Mr. Boggins!” Kíli appeared and blew right past Thorin, cutting off whatever scolding Bilbo was sure Thorin was planning on sending his way. Kíli looked disheveled but whole and alive. He crouched by Bilbo’s side and started tugging at the top of the sack.

“You’re alive! And you- I am very cross with you!” Bilbo huffed, his relief only matched by his rising irritation. Kíli had the sense to look sheepish as he worked on undoing the cord keeping the sack closed.

“Sorry, Bilbo. Didn’t mean for it to turn out that way. But we’re all okay!” Kíli insisted.

Clumsy hands finally managed to undo knots that kept Bilbo trapped and he worked his arms free. He took care to scoop up all the beads in his lap before he stood up and kicked the sack away for good measure. Bofur and Nori had also decided to brave the troll hoards stench. Bofur helped push Bilbo to his feet while Nori simply flashed a sharp grin, his hair still somehow intact in its usual star shape.

“Enjoy your tumble in the sack with a troll there, sunshine?” Nori joked. It seemed in poor taste, drawing chuckles from Bofur and Kíli and making Bilbo sputter.

“Easy there, Bilbo. It’s only funny because you’re okay,” Bofur assured. “We thought you’d been carried off and eaten.”

“I thought _you_ were eaten! How did you escape the trolls?” Bilbo asked.

“Ah, that would be where I come in, my dear Bilbo,” Gandalf answered from his place rooting through the various ‘treasures’ the trolls had stocked in their hoard.

“He broke the rock blocking the sun not long after you were carried off! The other two trolls turned to stone, you should have seen it!” Kíli interrupted. “And then- and then at the mouth of the cave he made it all shadowy and he did voices! Sounded just like one of the trolls didn’t he? The half-wit never stood a chance!”

Gandalf cleared his throat, looking put out that he couldn’t tell the story himself. “Go on outside, Bilbo. You’ve spent quite enough time in a troll hoard today.”

Being reminded of his freedom somehow made the troll hoard smell even worse. Bilbo made a hasty retreat towards the light at the mouth of the cave. He could hear Bofur call for Nori to get a shovel from behind him, no doubt getting up to some dwarvish nonsense now that they were once again safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Bilbo can't tell if he's been scolded or insulted or maybe it was both. The day only gets worse from there.


End file.
